Nov 06 2012
For the Love of Dinosaurs
When I was little, like around five or six, I was legitimately and completely obsessed with dinosaurs. I was, other than that, your typical girl. I loved Barbies, princesses, playing dress-up, and all things girly, but nothing compared to my love of dinosaurs. I thought they were literally the coolest things ever. And I can’t blame myself, honestly, what’s cooler than a T-Rex? Not much. Right next to my doll house was my huge container full of little dinosaurs. Triceratops, Stegosaurus, Brontosaurus, Velociraptor, Pterodactyl…. I had them all. You name it, I could tell you how big it was, what it ate, and it’s favorite color. I was obsessed with where they came from, why they died out, and what animals still here today evolved from them. When people asked me “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I would respond, “a paleontologist!”, like it was completely normal. I was obsessed with the Natural History Museum’s dinosaur wing, I loved the huge mold in the lobby, and the little room that let you walk right on top of a dinosaur skeleton. After like a year, I grew tired of all my dinosaurs and passed them down to my little brother, who got great use out of them too. I got tired of dinosaurs in general, and I continued playing with my Polly Pockets and dolls as usual. Kids go through phases a lot, so one weird, Dinosaur-crazy phase doesn’t seem like it meant that much. And, while I still always had a healthy appreciation for dinosaurs since they’re so awesome, after my phase ended I don’t think I ever gave them much thought. This made it even more of “just a phase”, and I never thought twice about why I was so obsessed with them. But this summer, that all changed. I babysit for three awesome kids, and I took two of the boys this summer to the Natural History Museum, secretly mostly for my own enjoyment, because that place never ceases to be amazing. While walking through my former absolute favorite room (now it’s the Hall of African Mammals), one of the boys told me that he loves dinosaurs and that he was so excited to see them. I told him I used to love them too. He asked me why I stopped being obsessed with them, and I said I wasn’t sure. Being a seven year old with a ton of questions, he then asked what it was I used to like most about them. I gave him some BS answer, like how big or scary they were. I then asked him why he liked them so much, and he said “Because they look like they are from a movie, they don’t even look real, but they were, and they used to live on Earth, just like us. Isn’t that so cool?” I almost fell over at this response. It was the single coolest thing I have ever heard a kid say. He was so right! Dinosaurs are awesome, and now I realized my obsession with them was too!
When I was younger, my Ariel and Snow dolls were my best friends. Aurora was too, but at some point, she disappeared into the jaws of a ferocious dragon, whom I forgave later on, since this was his first offense. We drank tea in the common area and chatted about the weather; but deep inside, I was admiring each of my guests-oh what I would do for her red, luscious hair or her fair complexion. My admiration quickly turned into jealousy. And that’s when I wondered why they never made any villainess dolls. I mean, what made them villains in the first place? Was it because they were old? Ugly? Fat? Technically, it was ONLY Maleficent who was not invited; why shouldn’t she be upset?! And maybe, Ursula was just trying to teach Ariel a lesson that obviously King Triton did not teach well. Before this revelation, I would regard any ugly, fat and or old person with special suspicion. I remember this one instance when I followed my mother next door to check on our sick neighbor. I’ve never met her before and was curious. I peered through the old curtain and saw a large black crow in a cage, with its beady black eyes burning a hole into my head. Just then the door opened and an old lady with sagging wrinkles on every inch of her body welcomed us in. I surveyed the room; there was dust sprinkled on the couch, which I reluctantly sat down upon. In the corner stood something that made me shriek on the inside. It was a cat, or at least it was a cat. It was fat and stood stiff with a malicious smile forever curved on its face. I looked away long enough to observe my host. She wore dark, semi-stylish (at least for a grandma) clothes that clung to old aging bones. She was plump with arched, penciled in eyebrows, faded blood red lips and a mottled green-gray undertone to her skin which ran through its supply of collagen ages ago. That night, as I went through my nightly Disney movie ritual, it hit me like a ton of unrelenting bricks that were mocking me for being so oblivious. It was the stuffed cat I had seen, it was Lucifer, I was sure of it! I hyperventilated a little bit, being the asthma-prone kid I was. It all made sense; her house, her face, the crow! For the next few weeks I watched any and all activity around her like a hawk. The final straw was when she plopped a bright red apple into my Halloween pumpkin tote bag full of snickers, kit kats and gummies. She gave me a toothy grin as she shut the door in my face. Needless to say, the apple went into the trashcan when my mother had her back turned. It took me a week to plan and execute an infiltration/spy mission into her home; I would not sit idly by just waiting to be poisoned, or have my soul stolen. One, late afternoon, when I was supposedly taking my nap, I snuck into her backyard and cautiously peeped into the window. I only had a few minutes to snoop. What I did see, shocked me. Plastered all around her wall were pictures of a beautiful woman. Her beauty blew all my Disney princesses out of the water. Just as I was admiring the woman in the pictures and wishing how I could be like her, the old woman walked into the room and saw me peering in. I ran like the wind, hoping she wouldn’t catch me and hoping even more so that she didn’t have any special children-napping powers. As I lay in my bed that night, I realized that it was actually her in the photos. Maybe it was the post traumatic stress that was speaking, but something in me told me that it was her who used to be the beautiful, princess-like woman. The next day, my mother took me to the Disney store and told me I could pick one toy. I had my eyes on Jasmine for a while, but I chose to look for Ursula or Maleficent. After a long thorough search, I proudly lifted a small, dingy maleficent figurine to my mother. She grimaced and asked me if that was really what I wanted. Wouldn’t you rather have the pretty Jasmine doll? She goaded. I suddenly became angry. Why did Disney have to portray villains like this? Was it really their fault that they were who they were, that they were born ugly and or fat? And if Disney were accurate, then won’t we all, just like my old neighbor, no matter how beautiful we are now, become villains in the end?
It’s so dark. Pitch black dark. I can’t see anything, not even the shape of my computer I was on just a minute ago. Every ray of light vanished in that single moment. Is this how the blind people see this world. Facing the same darkness 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year, throughout their entire life. Where is my phone? In my pocket? No. On the desk? No. Oh, it’s right next to me on the bed. 8:45. 20%. No Service. Oh god, I forgot to charge my phone! 20% How long will this last, a hour at the most. Why is this happening to us? Why does Hurricane Sandy has to hit the east coast? Let’s see, I bought bread, water, can food. Hold it, no flash light or candle. Oh my God! Why am I so dumb. No electricity, no service, 20 percent battery, 8:45, what am I going to do for the next few hours? Is this how life is like before the invention of light bulb? What do they do between sunset and bedtime? Sleep? That sounds like a great idea. Maybe I’ll just go to bed now and the electricity will come back when I wake up. Well, I guess that is the only thing I can do.